


Pure Imagination

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Good Omens Kink Meme, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: Hastur hate fantasizing about Crowley.Fill for the Good Omens Kink Meme.





	Pure Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the original prompt: "Hastur, after a particularly frustrating meet with Crowley hate fantasizing about snapping those stupid sun glasses in half and then pinning Crowley down and making sure Crowley looks at him while Hastur fucks into him. Or getting Crowley down on his knees and shutting up that mouth with a cock. Hastur has a lot of fantasies about putting Crowley, who thinks he's sooo cool and soo clever, in his place.
> 
> Up to filler whether Hastur is fantasizing about completely non-consensual scenarios, or if there's an element of ego there where he likes the idea of Crowley enjoying what he's thinking about. Either way, it's all fantasy, and either way, he doesn't particularly care about what the real Crowley would feel about it.
> 
> +In the show, Hastur calls Crowley "You little runt" at one point. Uhhhhhhhh Bonus points aplenty for exploring that or including that in some way."

The beginning was always the same.  
  
Hastur is waiting in a dark corner of Hell. Sometimes he’ll bother giving himself something to do, a reason for being there. Maybe Crowley sent him a message asking him to come. Maybe he’s on an important mission dictated by Satan himself. It’s not important, because Crowley suddenly appears, his hands in his pockets, head down so that his hair curtains his face.  
  
The first few times, Hastur tried to think of something witty for Crowley to say. Something irreverent and cagey, all the things that drive Hastur’s blood to boil, but he couldn’t think of anything. All the words he put into Crowley’s mouth sounded fake and stupid and boring. So, Hastur gave up and now just goes right to the point.  
  
“Satan isn’t happy with my performance,” Crowley says.  
  
“No one is.”  
  
Crowley cringes. There’s a brief moment of satisfaction blooming within Hastur, but it’s short-lived. It’s no fun if Crowley goes along meekly without a fight. Crowley would definitely fight.  
  
The cringing stops and Crowley stands up straighter, tilting his head and flashing a smile. “You love me down here,” he says with certainty.  
  
No, now he’s too much like Crowley. He would never do what Hastur wanted him to do. Start again.  
  
“Satan isn’t happy with my performance,” Crowley says.  
  
“Not my problem,” Hastur replies.  
  
Crowley steps forward, head still bowed. “What if I make it worth your while.” He lifts his head up and all Hastur can see is those stupid sunglasses.  
  
No, again. No sunglasses.  
  
Crowley steps forward, head still bowed. “What if I make it worth your while.” He lifts his head up, his snake-like eyes staring into his own, before darting to his mouth. Hastur surges forward, smashing his lips into Crowley’s. He slams him into the alcove, crowds him, covers him with his own body.  
  
This where Hastur likes to change it up, depending on his mood.  
  
Sometimes, Crowley is overwhelmed. His arms are stiff against Hastur’s chest, like he wants to push him away. His eyes are squeezed tight. “Come on, you must have done this before. All those years tempting humans, you never tempted them with your own body?” Hastur sneers.  
  
“No, I... never, I’ve never--”  
  
Maybe Hastur will take pity on him. Crowley wraps his legs around his waist as Hastur lifts him up. He pushes into him, slow and deep. Crowley’s eyes are wide with every thrust, as if he couldn’t believe how good this felt, how good _Hastur_ could make him feel. Other times Hastur shoves him around and presses his face against the stone while he takes him from behind. It’s too rough, too cruel, and Crowley squirms against him, trying to break free as the wall scrapes along his cheek with every push.  
  
Sometimes, Crowley is all sensual confidence. He presses himself against Hastur and smiles against his mouth, “All those years tempting humans, you think I never tempted them with my body?”  
  
He slips down onto his knees, like he belonged there. Like he _wanted_ to be there. He pulls Hastur out of his trousers and takes him all until his nose is pressed against his stomach. Hastur tangles his fingers into his red hair and starts thrusting. Crowley opens his mouth wide -- _the snake_ \-- and lets Hastur fuck his face.  
  
The ending is always the same.  
  
Crowley on his knees. Cum on his face, or on his thighs. Half-dressed, debauched, and sullied. He’s looking at Hastur. Sometimes his eyes are shiny with tears, other times half-lidded with cool, sultry confidence. “So, you’ll help me?” He asks.  
  
“No.”  
  
The cool confidence shatters. The unshed tears break through. And Hastur has won.  
  
Then, quite suddenly, his vision of Crowley changes. A snake-like grin appears across his face. “Only in your dreamsss,” he laughs.  
  
Hastur is pulled from his daydream and back into the meeting. He can see Crowley across the room, leaning against the wall in that artfully cool slouch he has cultivated over the years. He isn’t looking at Hastur. It’s like he doesn’t even exist.  
  
Start again.  
  
Hastur turns Crowley around and slams him against the wall. “You think you’re better than me?” he hisses. “You’re not, and I’m going to prove it.”


End file.
